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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



PRELUDES 



BY 



SISTER MARY CLARA, B. V. M. 



DUBUQUK 

M. S. HARDIE 

1914 






1 



»Ar 



COPYRIGHT. 1914 

BY THE SISTERS OF CHARITY. B. V. M. 

MOUNT ST. JOSEPH COLLEGE 

DUBUQUE. IOWA 



MAR 25 I9f4 



©CI,A371053 



To 

MY DEAR MOTHER 

MRS. ANNE CANTWELL RUSSELL 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

Questionings _ ~ 17 

Adrift- - ™ -..- 18 

Root and Branch „ 18 

Buying Bubbles _ — — 19 

An Ap ril Song ~ 20 

Ayodhya — 21 

Prayer Without Words _ „ 21 

Expression - 22 

A Memory „ _ - 22 

My Birthright „ _. 23 

November Mists _ -.. 24 

Song - - __ — 25 

Point of View „ _ 25 

A Philosopher 26 

In M emoriam „ _ _ 30 

Joy and Sorrow _ 3 1 

Two Roses _ _ _ _ 32 

Summer Song 32 

The First Easter _ 33 

Son g „ - _....„ 34 

A Legend of St. Joseph _ „.„„ 35 

A Poet's Thought 36 

O Queen of May ! „ 37 

The Fugue „ _ _ 38 

The Rosary .„ „ _. 39 

A M emo ry 40 

W^inter Song „ „ 42 

My Star _ „ 42 

Fi r st Friday „ 43 



The Higher Song 

Voices of the Dying 

Minnehaha 

Heart-Flowers _ 

La Mort Et La Vie _ 

Letters From Home 

Recollections of Whitby 

To Death 

At Bemidji's Grave 

Soul to Soul 

Autumn Song 

Our Lady of Light 

Beside the Sea 

The Voice of Hope 

Harvest Home 

Among the Myrtle Trees.. 

O eta ve 

May Song _, 

A Personal Question 

Rename d _ 



A Wonder- World 

Holy Hill 

Noctu rne 

Within the Veil 

Sympathy 

To a Violet- 

The Annunciation 

Farewell to Summer 

The Po^t 

Vocation 

Resurrection 



Page 

On the Lake 68 

The Wind and the Roses 69 

Swallows at Evening™, 71 

The City of Peace „ 71 

Niagara _ - _. 72 

An Alchemist ..._ 72 

Before a Statue of the Blessed Virgin IZ 

A Letter 73 

Hidden Victories . 74 

"Noli Foras Exire" 75 

"Tristis Usque Ad Mortem" 75 

Columbus at Valladolid 76 

Mysteries ..._ 79 

The Winepress .. 80 

To a Wild Rose_. _ 80 

Thy Today . __ 81 

"Magnes Animarum" 81 

A Voice \ „ 82 

The Captive „. 82 

Indian Summer _ 83 

Songs of Home.™ 83 

Song of the Mystic 83 

Attainment 84 



PRELUDES 



Love sings on earth in plaintive minor keys 
Paint preludes of Life's fuller harmonies. 



QUESTIONINGS. 



Whither, my soul, are we going? 

For time has slipped by unawares; 
Here in Life's fields are we sowing 

To gather a harvest of tares? 
When shall we enter Death's portal 

So lowly and dark, you and I ? 
O Soul, can you help being immortal, 

Or can I choose but to die? 

Shall the thinker who leaped to the star-lands, 

Who dived to the depths of the sea. 
Who has woven in history's garlands 

A name that forever will be 
A word for all nations to cherish, — 

Shall you who have learned all the lore 
Of the sages, my soul, shall you perish 

And one fatal day live no more? 

Say, shall you die without earning 

A guerdon for sorrow and pain? 
Shall all your infinite yearning 

For life without end be in vain? 
Shall you pass from this world and its hopings 

With no hope for the joys that you crave? 
Shall all your unsatisfied gropings 

Find no answer beyond the dark grave? 

But if you, O my soul, live forever. 

Shall I, then, forever be dust? 
Shall endless eternities sever 

You and me and our hope and our trust? 
Shall I, your companion, the sharer 

Of earth's joys and sorrows, be clod, 
While you, the immortal, are bearer 

Of bliss in the Vision of God? 

17 



ADRIFT. 

Unmoored, alone on a trackless sea 
In an oarless boat, — 

God pity me! 

Once I longed to be wild and free 
On the deeps afloat, — 

God pity me! 

Oh ! is it now too late to flee 

From the whirl-wind's throat ? 
God pity me! 

Loved ones are longing my face to see. 
On the shores remote, — 

God pity me! 

Aye, Thou wilt answer their loving plea, 
And bring me home from the stormy sea, 
Never again from that home to stray, 
Safe-anchored in love and faith alway. 



ROOT AND BRANCH. 



Buried deep in the dark, damp clay. 
Unknown, unloved I Time passes away, 
And nobody recks the toilsome hours 
That draw from the earth life's hidden powers. 

Blossom and fruitage ! Men's love and praise 
Have come to me from the world's wide ways, 
Sunshine and song, and the wild wind's kiss, — 
Oh, life is a long, glad dream of bliss ! 



18 



BUYING BUBBLES. 



Child, with laughing eyes and golden hair, 
Merry as the butterflies, and sweetly fair, 
So happy in thy bright and childish way, 

That earth forgets her troubles. 
What art thou doing all the summer day? — 

Blowing bubbles! 

Youth, on pleasure bent at life's new morn. 
Seeking thy own self-content, and holding scorn 
For all thy young dreams held as joy. 
Now, that duty doubles, 
What art thou doing, O thou dark-haired boy? — 

Buying bubbles! 

Man, with eager eyes and gray-streaked hair, 
Weighting thy dark soul with lies, dost thou yet dare 
To put in balance all thy ill-got gains, 

Bright kopecks and rubles ? 
What art thou doing with unheard-of pains? — 

Buying bubbles! 

Aged, with fading sight and snowy locks, 
Now in the dim twilight, death ever mocks 
Thy soul with memories of unworthy strife; 
Remorse thy fear redoubles. 
How hast thou spent thy long, ambitious life? — 

Buying bubbles! 



19 



AN APRIL SONG. 

The earth is all astir; 

Today I heard the whir 

Of wings in the silent wood 

Where our old swing-tree stood 

In the golden long ago. 

Do you remember now 

Mild April's coming ? how 

We searched among the hills 

For crocus flowers, while gurgling rills 

Trinkled softly through the melting snow? 

Dearest, come home again, 

The cowslips in the lane 

And by the meadow's edge 

Will wait for you; the hedge 

Will never whiten till you're here. 

The robins sing no more 

So gayly as of yore, 

The alders by the river 

Can only sigh and quiver, 

For oh, they're weary waiting for you, dear. 

Our mother's days are sad; 

In dreams her little lad 

Comes just as long ago he used to come; 

But when her arms reach out 

To clasp him close about, 

Alas! they empty fall. 

Her light is darkness all, — 

O love, come home, come home ! 



20 



AYODHYA. 

When Ayodhya's eyes turn full upon 

Mine own so questioningly, 
All the Whences and Whithers of ages gone 

Arise and gaze at me. 
Ivife's passion and pain are still adream; 

(Oh, dread awakening hour 
If e'er her woman's heart misdeem 

Their purpose and their power !) 
But watching where they sleep I see 

Pale ghosts of a thousand Whys, 
For her whole sad race looks out at me 

Fromi Ayodhya's wistful eyes. 



PRAYER WITHOUT WORDS. 



(Post Communion) 
This morn my heart is full of song; and still 

When to my lips it comes, the music dies, — 

The power to sing my God to me denies. 
Thy grace divine Thou gavest, Lord, until 
With every thought of Thee my pulses thrill; 

And swift to Heaven and Thee my glad soul flies 

On wings of love; and "Dearest Lord," it cries, 
"Let me but voice my prayer if 'tis Thy will. 
Mayhap some other soul who struggles here 

Will find in it new hope, new love for Thee, 
Some weary soul oppressed with doubt and fear." 

But Jesus in my breast so lovingly 
Speaks to my heart in accents low and clear : 

"My child, today in silence worship Me." 

21 



EXPRESSION. 



Sing out, soul, bravely 

Whatever is within you 

Of joy and hope; 

Chirp or carol, lightly, gravely, 

E'en though no place it win you 

In fame's wide horoscope. 

Listen ! a nightingale 

Atremble with love and pain 

In that pomegranate tree 

Sings to the star-beams pale 

Song after song again, — 

A winged ecstacy. 

But does the cricket 

With tuneful craking 

His tabor cease to play 

In yonder thicket ? 

Oh, no ! both are making 

Psalmody, — nature's way. 



A MEMORY 



For years within the pages of this book it lay, 

You placed it there, that wildweed flower ; 
And, oh ! when I beheld it there today. 

The stream of time swept backward to that hour 
Beside the meadow brook; the violets bloomed again, 

The sunlight shone, the sky was blue ; 
And for a time my heart forgot its pain, — 

I lived again that hour of bliss with you. 



22 



MY BIRTHRIGHT. 



My birthright is the meadows and green fields, 

Deep wooded hills and brooks' low singing, 
And hallowed joys that dearest home-life yields 

When youth and love are freshly springing. 
God pity him whoever basely sells 

His treasure for a mess of pottage, 
Despising lowly peace that dwells 

Love-guarded in a low white cottage. 

Thank God that my young life was taught 

Amid those simple scenes of childhood 
Strong, loving faith in Him which brought 

His presence to the fragrant wildwood, 
And made me feel His power in all, — 

Our cries to Him the young lambs' bleating. 
In murmuring winds I heard His call, — 

True symbol of our Shepherd's greeting. 

My home is still a sacred shrine 

At which my thoughts as pilgrims thronging 
Seek every day some grace divine 

With tender trust and ardent longing. 
O true home-love to bless and save 

In faith and joy my whole life steeping! 
O dear, dear Heart of Christ that gave 

So good a birthright to my keeping ! 



23 



NOVEMBER MISTS. 



Mists on the hill-tops afar, 

And mists in the valley between; 

Mists where the pine-trees are 
Under the moonrays' sheen. 

The white-robed earth seems cold, dear, 
In its misty cerements laid; — 

Can it be the earth of old, dear, 
Where we, glad children, played? 

Must pallor come to all things, — 
To your cheek so soft and fair? 

Must whiteness mar the beauty 
Of your sunny, golden hair? 

What matter if earth be cold, dear. 
If your heart be warm and true ? 

We shall live and love as of old, dear, 
'Neath skies of summer blue. 



24 



SONG. 



(From the German of Freidrich Riickert) 

Wouldst thou draw from hearts of men 

Harmonies of heavenly birth? 
Touch the chords attuned to pain, 

Not the clanging notes of mirth. 
Many a one is happy here, 

Knowing naught of earthly cheer; 
None w^ho hath not stood the test 

Of sorrow's sword v/ithin his breast. 



POINT OF VIEW. 



(Persian Proverb.) 

So you aver that every bud you pluck a thorn discloses ? 

Nay, rather think that briars are all abloom with fragrant roses. 



25 



A PHILOSOPHER 

(1902) 



Yes, Reverend Sir, I sent for you ; perhaps 

A sick man's whim. Oh, thank you. Take the chair 

Beside the window w^here the breeze blows cool; 

That fan was buzzing so confoundedly 

I ordered Pettigrew to turn it off. 

You're wondering why I sent for you, — 

By jiminy! hear those rooters shout, 

That field is nearly half a mile away; 

The Cubs and Sox are at it hard, I guess. 

Well, let them play who can, a different game 

Awaits a man who's face to face with death. . . . 

Oh, just a matter of a month or so ; 

Old Galen bids me count on years of life, 

But he has many ways of being kind. . . . 

No, not to argue. Father; I'm convinced; 

I simply want a listener today, — 

That human need to speak your mind to one 

Who lends a sym.pathetic ear without 

Tormenting you with banal formulas. . . . 

Baptized? Of course; I lost my head at school 

In learning crazy systems, creedless creeds; 

Declared myself agnostic like the rest 

Who covet little glories cheaply bought. 

Who stake their souls to strut the stage an hour 

And play the role of philosophic fool. 

Read Darwin, Tyndall, Huxley and our Chief, 

The great philosopher who brought, 'twas said, 

Encyclopaedic knowledge to his task. 

Whose strength lay in his logic, — all his work 

Outpourings of a logical machine 

With levers, cranks adjusted to preclude 

26 



The possibility of error. Well, 
That pretty prelude captured me at once ; 
Our Cinderella, Science, doomed to drudge 
While haughty sisters flaunt their fripperies ! 
Behold the denouement ! A Prince is come. 
And Science, worth and beauty, reigns supreme. 

A fitter regulative system must 

(A pressing need) replace decadent creeds 

Supposed to be of sacred origin. 

It seemed at first a goodly doctrine. Sir, — 

From lofty heights of thought to contemplate 

That far-off life our race may yet enjoy. 

And feel calm pleasure in the consciousness 

Of having helped to perfect its estate. 

And so we strove to climb, but often found 

A desert where we sought a mountain-top. 

Assurance sometimes failed; what clearly seemed 

An oasis of truth fled mirage-like, 

And principles were piled on principles. 

But ''Facts and Comments" — there 'twixt Hercules 

And Niobe upon the mantel-piece 

Among some other curios, — has proved 

The straw that broke the patient camel's back, 

I read it twice to make conviction sure, — 

A dying wail from our philosopher 

Who now with senile wit and trembling hands 

Pulls down upon our heads the temple reared 

Through fifty years of toil. Our Master asks : 

''Shall e'er I see again the buds unfold? 

Or hear again the thrushes sing at dawn?" 

He tells us, too, that out of consciousness 

Come deeper questions haunting him like ghosts, — 

Those old beliefs that will not fossilize. 

Because the end cannot be long postponed 

The riddle of existence must be solved! — 

27 



Forsooth, I thought eleven folios 

Had answered all our Whences, Whithers, Whys. 

He swept the world for ancient theories, 

Improved the worn-out Sinaitic code, 

Cast off old sloughs of superstition; then 

With scientific skill refashioned truth 

With ample liberty for human thought 

In truth's sole test, conceivability. 

He now admits the riddle stands unread; 

To me the whole Synthetic System seems 

A toy-house built by Echo and the Sphinx. 

In measuring our results we oft mistake 

Mere outward semblances for facts. A rnian 

Who loves the light in little children's eyes. 

Who joys in honest human laughter, knows 

The love of friends, the worth of human tears. 

Whose soul is thrilled in looking to the stars. 

Who wonders at the miracle of dawn. 

Can never be agnostic through and through; — 

Another way of saving. I suppose, 

That man has heart as well as intellect : 

Experience proves men's hearts must needs be fed 

With something other than agnostic husks. 

Of late old memories come back again, 

A favorite h\Tnn mv mother used to sins^. 

A sermon in a little country church, — 

The preacher neither eloquent, nor wise 

With hum.an wisdom. — simple words and plain 

About disciples toiling in the night. 

Oh, what's the use? Eternal Energy 

Stand up and take the place of God I — All bosh. 

This cant about a Power Inscrutable I 

The gutter-snipe who knows but chapter one 

Of his old catechism knows far more 

Of truth than Herbert Spencer ever guessed. 



28 



We have our moods, and this was mine today, — 

To score the book that tells a sorry tale. 

You'll come again, and be my homeward guide 

Through long untrodden paths ? Remember me 

In that tremendous Sacrifice of love 

And praise you offer daily. Father, pray 

For me, — for faith's increase by which indeed 

Is victory. 'Twere well to give the mind 

Its proper food; to set the intellect 

The tasks for which God purposed it, to build 

Its coral-isles of theory; to learn 

The laws and causes of existences; 

But when you come to die, an ounce of faith 

Outweighs a ton of philosophic lore. 

Suppose we talk of other things awhile? — 
There go the champions from the diamond; 
What splendid fellows! Ah, — ^the Sox have won. 



29 



IN MEMORIAM 



"Was death so sweet ?" Aye. Life hovered a moment, lovingly, 
alone. 

As the last sunbeam lingers in the west. 
Softly the death-angel, winging his flight from regions sown 

A\'ith song, lifted her soul, pure in its lilied rest, 
To ope in fuller beauty near the blaster's throne. 

"Who was she ?'' One whom God hath blest. 
Had loved with everlasting love, and called 

To rich inheritance — love's deep m^ine 
Of self-effacement. Xo worldly glory's shadow palled 

The brightness of that soul, forevermore the shrine 
Of heaven's sweet splendors. "Beloved,'' we said, ''unthralled 

Bv earthly fetters, haste thee to joys divine I'' 



30 



JOY AND SORROW. 



I walked with Joy in glad companionship 

Across life's morning meadows, dew-impearled ; 

Fond eyes sought faith in mine, or lip to lip 

We sealed love's tender vows, — O happy world ! 

Once as we walked together, she and I, 

A shadow fell between us where we stood; 

A cross, a light, a something floating by 

Called me. No longer Joy seemed all life's good. 

My comrade saw the change. ''Adieu," she said; 

"I go to seek new loves, for you have grown 
Of Joy aweary !" Then I knew my love was dead ; — 

But somehow I rejoiced to be alone. 

I walked with Sorrow. Oft I said, "Depart, 

baneful shadow!" Or on bended knee. 
Pausing awhile, I cried with aching heart, 

''O Father, let this chalice pass from me !" 

Years came and went ; and still with that stern guide 

1 worked and prayed. At length upon a day 
I missed her constant presence from my side — 

How strange life seemed ! Sorrow had gone away! 

"O dear, familiar friend," I cried in grief, 
"O heavenly teacher, come again to me, 

For I have learned to love thee past belief, 

My soul received her light and strength through thee !' 



31 



TWO ROSES. 



Two roses bloomed on the selfsame stem, 
And true was the love that guarded them. 

The roses plucked from the parent thorn, 
Two different ways one night were borne, — 

One to a chapel dim and small, 
And one to the blaze of a fancy-ball. 

The morning dawned ; in the filthy street 
One rose is crushed under trampling feet ; 

As the life-tide ebbs her cold lips say, 
"Where is my sister rose today?" 

One leaned from a vase of costly art. 
And breathed her love to the Sacred Heart ; 

But through her joy came a nameless fear — 
"Ah, would that my loved one were here l" 



SUMMER SONG. 



Thank God for the breeze, 

For the birds and the trees! 

Thank God for the grass and flowers. 

For the blue, blue skies that bend above us. 

For the true, true friends He has sent to love us 

In this beautiful world of ours ! 



32 



THE FIRST EASTER. 



O'er Judean hills the dawn is creeping, 

Bringing the day with its griefs again; 
On her lowly couch is Mary sleeping, 

O'er-wrought by the Passion's awful pain. 
Often she breathes His name in dreaming 

Sorrowful dreams of her bitter loss 
On Calvary's mount, — the mother seeming 

To stand agfain 'neath the mournful Cross. 



'•fc>' 



But list ! a strain as of angels singing 

Soft and clear through the morning air, 
An echo of heaven-born music bringing 

To the lonely couch of the sleeper there. 
The strain takes on a joyful wording, 

And the mother stirs in her troubled dreams : 
But what are the angels' songs recording 

As the light o'er Judean hill-sides streams ? 

"Regina Coeli, Isetare !" thrilling. 

And ''Alleluia !" in chorus strong : 
In the light that all the world is filling 

The mother wakes with the angels' song. 
And there in the midst of the brightness beaming 

She sees her Son, and she hears His voice : 
"Mother!" Ah, this cannot be dreaming, 

For the angels are bidding her soul rejoice. 

But come away! It were rash presuming 

To tell of that meeting with mortal tongue; 
With the light of Heaven our souls illuming, 

We shall hear the story by angels sung. 
O Heart of Christ ! on some Easter morning 

We shall learn the strength of thy love divine ; 
We shall sound the depths of that tender warning : 

"My child, let thy heart be always Mine." 

33 



SONG. 



Sing, O my heart, 

Sing merrily; 
Sorrow and pain depart, — 

Live cheerily. 

Ah ! but the gloom was deep — 
Shadows e'er darkening, 

Till thy light song did leap 
To my soul's harkening ! 

Then darkness fled away 
Into the shadowland ; 

Then trilled the lark her lay 
Sweet in the meadowland. 

Soul answered soul, my dear, 
Swifter than lightning! 

Came thy glad message clear. 
All the world brightening. 

Sing, then, O heart of mine, 
Sing cheerily, — 

Love bringeth joy divine, — 
Live verily! 



34 



A LEGEND OF ST. JOSEPH. 



We knelt at the foot of the altar, 

And prayed to the dear humble saint, 
The greatest and yet the most hidden, 

The freest from all earthly taint. 
And through the stained glass of the window 

A glimmer of light in the gloom, 
Touched the staff in the hand of the statue 

And the pale flowers burst into bloom. 

Adela looked up in amazement, 

Then fixed her blue eyes on my face, 
And, ''Why has St. Joseph the flowers ?" 

She whispered with innocent grace. 
Adown the long aisle we went slowly, 

And into the wide busy street; 
Then I told to Adela the story — 

The old legend quaint and sweet. 

"Long, long ago in the courts of the temple 

A maiden dwelt, wondrously fair; 
From all the broad land of Judea 

Came suitors to claim her love there; 
Among them, the carpenter, Joseph, 

Had asked for the fair virgin's hand; 
But Joseph was lowly and humble. 

Though descended from kings of the land. 

''The priests in the temple were doubtful, 

And knowing not how to decide. 
They prayed for a sign from Jehovah 

For him who should claim her his bride. 
They bade all the suitors of Mary 

Bring rods from the fields, dry and bare, 
To be placed on the steps of the altar : 

'Twas done, and the rods were left there. 

35 



"Next morning, came into the temple 

The priests for their matinal hours ; 
They looked at the wands on the altar — 

Lo ! Joseph's was budding with flowers 
All fresh in their bloom and their beauty ; 

Then they knew 'twas the will of the Lord 
That Joseph should wed the young virgin, 

x\nd Mary was pleased with the word. 

"And so our St. Joseph, the humble, 
Thus won his immaculate bride, 

The mother of Jesus our Savior 

Who to save us has suffered and died." 



A POET'S THOUGHT. 



When I am dead, will old friends gather near. 

And look on my white face, and drop a tear 

In grief? Who knows? Will they repeat 

A verse or two of mine, and say, " 'Tis sweet"? 

Will e'er a song I sang live in one heart 

To glad a weary hour, to ease the smart 

Of some soul-wound? — ^The wild blue violet 

Blooms deep in vroodland vales, and yet 

Fulfills its mission though it dies imknown 

Breathing its fragrance unto God alone. 

So if our life, our death are in His hand. 

What matter whether high or low we stand? 

For when the tired heart is stilled fore'er, 

God fills the soul — what's praise or blame to her? 



Z6 



O QUEEN OF MAY! 



The heavens wear the hue 

Of Mary's mantle blue, 
And all the earth is clad in bright array; 

With many a fervent prayer, 

Thy children everywhere 
Look up with love to thee, O Queen of May ! 

The wild bird chorus thrills, 

And o'er the distant hills 
The winds bring perfume from the flow'ry spray; 

The surpliced orchard trees 

Are chanting litanies 
Of praise and love to thee, O Queen of May! 

From every hill and plain 

There comes a low refrain, 
That to the heart its message bears alway ; 

I hear the purling streams. 

And all their music seems 
A song of love for thee, O Queen of May ! 

And shall my voice be still, 

While bird and bloom and rill 
Are singing in thy praise a roundelay ? 

Oh, teach me. Holy One, 

The daughter of Thy Son, 
To hymn my love to thee, O Queen of May ! 



Z1 



THE FUGUE. 



"Amen !" sang soprano ; 

''Amen!" growled the bass; 
"Amen !"' moaned the aho, 

With tenor in place. 

A moment of silence 

Most restful, and then 
With vigor renewed 

They attacked the amen. 

*^\men ! A- Amen ! ! A- A- Amen ! ! ! 
A-A-A-x\men ! ! ! ! Amen!!" 
Rambling and scrambling, 
And tumbling and fumbling. 
And wavering and quavering, 
And singing and ringing, 
And quailing and vrailing, — 
Notes high and low blended. 
Till all vigor failing. 
The grand fugue was ended. 

Down near the door 

Of the church, in the crowd, 
An old woman knelt. 

In reverence bowed. 

But she turned to her neighbor 

And whispered: "Ah, then, 
Why couldn't they decide 

Who would have the amen ? 
Sure, to scramble like that, 

And to fight for the word. 
It isn't becomin' 

In the house o' the Lord." 



38 



THE ROSARY. 

Fair are the snow-white roses 

Heaven-blest in their purity; 
They were laid at the feet 
Of the Virgin sweet 

In lowly Galilee. 

We think of the morn 

When Christ was born 
'Neath the starry eastern skies ; 

In their fragrant breath 

Dreams of Nazareth 
And the hidden glories rise. 

Blest are the red, red roses 

That tell of the Passion's pain 
And the saving flood 
Of Christ's Precious Blood 

That washes away each stain. 

Ah ! the crimson tide 

From his pierced side 
New life to a lost Vv^orld brings, 

Though with thorny crown 

And the purple gown, 
It has mocked the King of kings. 

Bright are the golden roses, — 

Earth's darkness and pain are o'er, 
And the light divine 
Will clearly shine 
In our souls forevermore. 
O golden, golden roses. 

Symbols of victories won, 
With you the chaplet closes 

When the round of life is done. 



39 



A MEMORY 



I. 

Long ago — aye, five-and-twenty years, 

(How swift time's flight !) 
She heard the call divine : ''Child, let thy heart be Mine;" 
Earth's purest joys, the friends whom love endears, 

Home's sweet delight. 
Were left for His dear sake, who said, 

(Ah, mystic word!) 
"Thou hast not chosen Me, but I have chosen thee." 
Safe by Love's guiding spirit led, 

She found her Lord. 

IL 

Of the world's work God giveth lovingly 

To each his part; 
A promise breathed low that sweet day long ago. 
Bound her, dear Christ, to follow Thee. 

(O brave young heart!) 
With joys unknown before her pulses thrill, 

(Love's recompense.) 
Content to bear the Cross, to suffer earthly loss, 
For heavenly gain, only to do His will. 

(Faith true, intense!) 

III. 

And now God views the record of those days ; 

How reads the scroll? 
In all that He has willed, is His design fulfilled 
Faithfully in Heaven's appointed ways? 

(Attend, O soul.) 
Which of the vanished yesterdays is best? 

(O lips, speak low!) 
The one when fell the rod, — her heart leaped forth to God, 
The Cross was borne, was loved, at His behest. 

('Twas better so.) 

40 



IV. 

God's love and power are with her in the strife, 

To grace allied ; 
Amid the world's acclaim one dear and sacred Name 
Sweetens the weary tasks of Hfe; 

(O heart long-tried!) 
What ceaseless, daily toil, what vigils of the night, 

(In Heaven is rest). 
What ardent hearts of youth were led to know the truth. 
Guided through darkness to the light, 

God knoweth best. 



41 



WINTER SONG. 

(From the German of Josef von Eichendorff) 



I dreamed that I rested again 

Xear my father's house as of yore; 
All-fragrant from valley and plain 

Glad zephyrs their wild fragrance bore. 
They played 'mid the old linden trees 

That gently their young blossoms shed. — 
Borne far by each wandering breeze, 

Bloom-showers o'er my breast and my head. 

I awoke from my dreaming too soon ; 

The vallev and forest I scanned, 

■J 

Above the wood's edge a pale moon 
Shone yellow upon a strange land. 

The region was covered with snow, 
Showers of icicles gleamed in the air; 

All white were the gulches below, 

And white from old age was my hair. 



MY STAR. 



Gleam redly, my star, in the night, 
Shine far over life's troubled sea, — 

O guide me, thou sweet Altar-Light, 
To my Love Who is waiting for me. 



42 



FIRST FRIDAY. 



O starry lights upon the altar burning, 

O happy flowers consumed with love for Him 
To Whom our thoughts, our hearts' desires are turning, 
O fragrant incense in the chapel dim ! 

Ye whisper prophecies of rites to be 
When time has yielded to eternity. 

Dear Sacred Heart, within the monstrance longing 
For each small tribute of Thy children's love, 
O give to us around Thy altar thronging 

Thy peace and joy, when like the v/earied dove, 
In wandering far from this beloved retreat 
No place is found to rest our tired feet. 



THE HIGHER SONG. 



Immortal Tuscan ! thou hast found thy way 
Unto that mountain steep of joyful pain 
Whereon is heard the clear melodious strain 

Of holy souls whose office is to pray. 

To wait in cleansing fires, — a sad delay — 

Till all atonement done, and every stain 
Effaced, they'll sing a glad refrain 

At dawning of the bright, eternal day. 

"Remember me ! at least you, O my friends," 
A loved one calls through all the long 

November hours when Holy Church extends 
Her arms to plead with God in strong 

Sweet tones for mercy and reprieve, and sends 

World-wide the appeal of Dante's higher song, 

43 



VOICES OF THE DYING. 

I hear them calHng, calling to me 

From earth's far bounds, 

A low and dolorous sighing, — 

The Voices of the Dying; 

They send a thrill of pity through me, 

Those lamentable sounds, 

Forever crying, crying, 

"Pray, oh, pray for us!" 

Then to Our Father turning 

With a heart's insatiate yearning. 

Beseechingly, I thus : 

"O Father, Heavenly Father, 

Thy boundless mercy rather 

Than justice glorify 

In those about to die. 

O manifest Thyself to them, dear Lord; 

Let Thy most holy Face 

With its calm power of grace 

Bend tenderly above 

Their dying-place; 

Speak Thou one only word 

And they will die of love, 

Of love for Thee 

Who died of love for them upon the Tree!" 

Then comes another thought: 

"Our Father, if in aught 

My prayer doth please Thee, 

When death's cold hand will seize me. 

Let mercy be to me 

Who e'er hath prayed to Thee 

For souls in agony. 

If some for love be saved, 

Wilt tell them that a friend 

44 



Perhaps at earth's far end 

Had prayed that they be laved 

In the Precious Blood of Christ ? Then each to me 

May prove a friend in mine own agony. 

When they lay my body under 

Dear Carmel's smooth-cut grass 

Where saintly footsteps pass 

And v^hite-veiled Sisters come, 

How many friends, I wonder. 

Will give an exiled spirit welcome Home ? 



MINNEHAHA. 



Dear Minnehaha! long I stood 

Delighted with your laughter, 
A merry song in solitude 

Heard all my days thereafter, 
A memory dear my thoughts will seek 

Awaking or adreaming. 
Your dainty spray upon my cheek, — 

Below, your rainbow gleaming. 
Laugh on, in shadow and in sun 

Through all the summer weather, 
Recall the golden days long gone 

When she and I together 
Beheld in fancy as we read, 

The Arrowmaker's daughter, — 
Wept when the parting words were said 

''Farewell, O Laughing Water!" 



45 



HEART-FLOWERS. 



It bloomed in my heart, — my flower of love 

To all the world unknown ; 
It was mine, mine only, my treasure-trove, 

It lived for my soul alone. 

One day a stranger passing by, 

With rude hand plucked my flower ; 

Thenceforth 'twas seen of every eye, — 
Ah ! that w^as a bitter hour ! 

My sweet heart-blossom was rudely torn 

From its sacred soil and true. 
Upon the winds its fragrance borne, 

And many paused to view. 

And some men wondered, and some were glad ; 

To many souls it brought 
A heavenly balm, for it cheered the sad 

With a loving, tender thought. 

So I learned that our fragrant, sweet heart-flowers 

Are gifts of God, not given 
For secret, selfish ends of ours, 

But to turn men's thoughts to Heaven. 



LA MORT ET LA VIE. 



A moins que la chenille ne donne sa vie 
Le joli papillon ne vole pas, ravi 
Du radieux soleil qui dore ses ailes. La mort 
Produit une vie plus complete. Laissez alors 
Mourir le laid pour que la beaute s'enivre, 
Perisse le corps si I'esprit doit survivre. 

46 



LETTERS FROM HOME. 



Dear leaves that have blown to my feet from the old roof -tree, 
Tender and loving and true, they are dearest of all to me; 
Lines from a fond mother's trembling pen, each word a prayer, 
Thoughts from a father's deep heart-courses, manfully there; 
Breathings of sisterly love that have sweetened and brightened 

my life, 
And clarion notes of a heroic brother's success in the strife. 

Here in these letters are pictures of loved ones and home 
That clearly define themselves whithersoever I roam, — 
A Temple of Truth where Love held the worshipers fast, 
Whence forever the voices of prayer come to me from the 

beautiful past. 
Dear hearts that have loved me so fondly, go where I will 
My heart is enshrined on the altar of home, and the song echoes 

still. 



47 



RECOLLECTIONS OF WHITBY. 



At Whitby on the rugged English coast, 
One summer noon we walked, Miriam and I; 
The dark cliffs rose to meet the moor — a free 
Wild beauty in a wilder beauty lost; 
The Esk low crooning of old days, flowed by 
Into the bosom of the northern sea. 

We two, Americans, oft longed for home. 
The land of all lands best; but we had sought 
That far remote and unfrequented place 
Where wonder-seeking tourists seldom come — 
Yorkshire, wherein our fathers lived and fought, 
And died, and lived anew, a kingly race. 
In song and story, there to steep our souls 
In old traditions, — to live again 
Forgotten days of Celt and Saxon chiefs; 
To listen when the noise of battle rolls. 
Hearing old echoes that the conquering thane 
Woke centuries long gone near Streoneshalh reefs. 

And so at Whitby in that summer noon 

We wandered. Far below quaint, picturesque, 

The town lay dreaming; near at hand 

The Abbey ruin — cloisters overgrown 

With creeping vines and moss in forms grotesque, 

The symbol of a mighty past, — a land 

Now desolate. There stands Whitby Hall, 

Whose stones once echoed back the matin song, 

The Vesper prayer of sainted souls unknown 

Beyond the sacred Abbey's cloistered wall, 

But dear to God for Whom they lived through long 

And patient years, — for Him their virtues shone. 

No more the voice of prayer at eventide 

Ascends to heaven as in the olden days, 

48 



The days of England's glory unsurpassed; 

But we may learn how souls were sanctified, 

May drink deep wisdom from those old-world ways,- 

For men gain strength and courage from the past. 

"My learned friend," quoth Miriam, — here 
She balanced on her dainty finger-tips 
An ammonite, — "tell me, do you know 
The story of the Abbess Hilda, dear 
To English hearts, and told by English lips 
Since Saxon days twelve centuries ago?" 
But nought knew I of saints or saintly lore; 
So, close beneath the ruined abbey wall, 
Miriam and I together, side by side 
Sat, while she with loving faith told o'er 
The story of the Abbess Hilda, learned in all 
Earth's goodly lore, in heaven now glorified. 

"A pagan princess of Northumbrian fame. 

She loved the Christian faith, and early learned 

Its precepts. (That Paulinus by whose hands 

She was baptized, from Canterbury came 

As Christ's ambassador, and overturned 

The heathen idols in these northern lands.) 

She built upon the lonely Streoneshalh rock 

A monastery, ruled it well, lived long. 

And when with noble deeds her life was crowned, 

She died, a benefactress to her race. Through shock 

Of falling thrones, and oft triumphant wrong, 

St. Hilda's name lives honored and renowned. 

"The simple folk finding these geologic forms" — 

Here Miriam held the serpent-stone to view, 

The fossil ammonite, — "in ancient lore 

Wove a tradition that invading swarms 

Of serpents had been turned to stone through 

49 



Blessed Hilda's prayer, on Whitby's shore. 

They say that during many centuries 

The Lady Hilda's figure oft was seen 

In tranquil noons when summer touched the hill, 

There in the topmost window near the frieze, 

Where sunbeams weave a beauteous golden sheen, — 

The guardian of her loved people still. 

All lost, the twilight legends of our youth, 

In noonday glare of scientific search. 

Yet one remains, — a story of old days, 

No empty legend, but historic truth. 

Told in the early annals of the Church, — 

How Saxon Csedmon wrote his paraphrase." 

And Miriam paused, not doubting that I knew 
The tale. Across the rocks long shadows fell. 
O'erhead a sea-gull winged its lonely flight 
Eastward across the deep to where the blue 

Of heaven meets the ocean's blue "The spell 

Of ancient days is round us on this height," 

I whispered: "My Miriam, tell to me 

The story of the Saxon Caedmon." . . . Her gaze 

Rested awhile on that bleak cliff where laps 

The long wave of the northern sea; 

At last she said, speaking her thought, "God's ways 

Are wondrous. Caedmon, heathen-born, perhaps 

Had sung of Woden, not of Christ; of grim 

Old Saxon warriors, not of Abram's race, — 

For deep in Pagan darkness, he erstwhile 

Knew nought of God nor Christ, — but, drawn by Him, 

His soul awoke, illumined by His grace 

Whose light shone clear from famed lona^s isle. 

A herdsman in the monastery fields 

At Whitby here, St. Hilda's dear retreat. 

The lowly Caedmon, all unknown to fame, 

Strove by the love which true devotion yields 

50 



To God and fellow-man, in service meet, 
To bear in very truth his Christian name. 

Once at a merry harvest festival. 

When harp went round, and bearded Saxons sang 

The ballads of old days, of conquered foes, 

Csedmon was asked to sing a madrigal. 

With jeering laughter loud the table rang, — 

'Twas known that Csedmon could not sing. He rose, 

And wandered forth into the summer night. 

The mystic moonlight made strange arabesque 

Of shadows where he sat; a faint breeze crept 

Up from the sea to Whitby's heig'ht ; 

He heard the low weird murmur of the Esk; 

O'ercome by night's soft magic, Caedmon slept. 

Into his sleep a marvelous vision came. 

Sea, river, cliff, and convent tower 

Seemed all ablaze. Then chanced a wondrous thing : 

Th' effulgent beams concentrated in one flame 

Of heavenly glory at that midnight hour; 

God's angel spake ; his words were : "Csedmon, sing." 

Humbly the herdsman made reply 

In trembling tones : "1 cannot sing; therefore 

I left the harvest feast and revelry." 

Again mid splendors vast of earth and sky. 

Sweet music fell; angelic words once more 

Heard Csedmon:, "Nathless, thou'lt sing for me." 

"And what," asked Caedmon, "wilt thou have me sing?" 
"Of God's creation sing." . . . Then Csedmon thought 
His soul was rapt to heaven ; with deep amaze 
The herdsman saw the glory of the King; 
He heard majestic harmonies, and caught 
Words ardent, wonderful of prayer and praise. 

51 



! 



When Casdmon woke, the dawn's magnificence 
Was purpHng cHff and headland; from the sea 
The golden mist arose like matin offerings. 
In glorious strains, of God's omnipotence 
He sang in England's morn of melody. 
Sweet as our English lark at morning sings. 

The Abbess Hilda heard of Caedmon's dream, 
And learned council called to judge its worth; — 
Herdsman no more, but gifted monk, his days 
Were given to write creation's holy theme. 
St. Basda thus records the heavenly birth 
Of English poesy, in Csedmon's paraphrase." 

Then Miriam paused, the story done. ... It seemed 

A time for silence. There we two, alone 

Beside the Abbey wall, watched the long. 

Dark shadows creep across the rock where dreamed 

The herdsman. Then in low sweet monotone 

Miriam said o'er some lines of Caedmon's song: 

''Now must we praise the Guardian of Heaven, 
The great Creator's power. His wisdom infinite, 
The work of Him, Father omnipotent; 
How He, the Lord Eterne, for sons of men 
Shaped erst their roof, the skies, and then the earth. 
Oh, praise we Him, the glorious King of Hosts." 

The North Sea answered from its caverns old, 
And caught loud echoes from the Yorkshire hills, 
The joyful melody of Caedmon's fame. 
Time passed ; we lingered still, while sunset gold 
Ensplendored rock and sea mid peace that fills 
The hallowed spot which bears St. Hilda's name. 



52 



TO DEATH. 



For many, many years I walked with Death 

So close beside, 
I felt upon my cheek his frosty breath, — 

O faithful guide! 
Do not depart, I pray thee ; still vouchsafe, 

My somber friend, 
To teach me God's deep truths, to lead me safe 

Unto the end. 



AT BEMIDJrS GRAVE. 



O wonderful, waving pines. 

Whom doth your mourning deplore? 

And what is the song that you sing? 

It seemeth a requiem over the dead 

Who slumbers here 'neath the ground I tread,- 

An Indian hunter, an Indian king 

Learned in all the forest lore, 

A humble factor in God's designs. 

O quaintly carven gravestone lines, 

'Tis an old, old story you tell ; 

Even from Biblical days of yore 

How often the pitiful words are sighed : 

He lived, aye, so many years, and he died, 

Earth's joys and sorrows alike are o'er. 

Bemidji ! rest in thy quiet cell 

Under the murmuring pines ! 



53 



SOUL TO SOUL. 



Somewhere, Beloved, in the great To-Be 

We'll meet, my soul and thine. 
When earthly masks are dropped, and thou shalt see 
How much of my life's love went out to thee, 

What grief, what tears were mine. 

Some time, Beloved, thou wilt understand 

That faith and prayer are best ; 
Thou'lt know how oft a loving Father's hand 
Poured me the chalice in this exile-land 

That thy soul might be blest. 

And oh, Beloved, on some golden day 

With all earth sorrow past. 
Shall I receive the boon for which I pray? 
Wilt thou forever put vain thoughts away 

And love the truth at last? 



54 



AUTUMN SONG. 



Autumn leaves are falling, falling 
Where the long brown shadows lie, 

Autumn winds are calling, calling, 
*'A11 things fairest soonest die." 

Summer joys are fleeting, fleeting; 

Soon they've vanished in the past; 
Worldly pleasure's cheating, cheating,- 

Earthly love grows cold at last. 

Darksome pines are sighing, sighing, 
Over graves where lost ones' sleep,- 

Warning voices crying, crying, 
''As thou sowest thou shalt reap." 



OUR LADY OF LIGHT. 



Thou comest, O Mother of beautiful love. 
Fair as the moon in the calm skies above, 
Bright as the sun in its zenithward way. 
Strong as an army in battle array. 
Tenderly loved as the pure Morning Star, 
Whose radiance gladdens our world from afar, 
Welcome as dawn after earth's dreary night, 
O Splendor of Heaven, our Lady of Light! 



55 



BESIDE THE SEA. 



My ships put out to sea : the purple morn 

Made glad the orient, and touched the mist 
Upon the headlands ; pink, gold, amethyst 

Enwrapped the cradle of the day newborn. 

The free, wild birds upon the flow'ry thorn 

Made melody ; and in their morning tryst 
The yielding shore and eager ocean kissed. 

Afar was heard the shepherd's joyful horn. 

I walk beside the deep : the sullen rocks 

Now spurn the snarling sea that mocks 

Resistance : the cold bleak sky is flecked 

With clouds — and oh ! my argosies are wrecked — 

The gray mews shriek, "Wrecked ! wrecked !" the vengeful sea 

Tosses the ruins forth in fiendish glee. 



THE VOICE OF HOPE. 



Despair's black night had fallen on my soul. 
No kindly star shone in the angry skies, 
No friendly light repaid my straining eyes. 

O God ! the deep, dull pain ! the lost control 

Of every sense ! around me darkly stole 

A mad desire for death; love, sacrifice 
Were gulfed in bitter seas no more to rise, 

Where waves of dire discord unceasing roll. 

Athwart the moor a faint light whitely gleamed, 

A voice from out the 'wildering darkness seemed 

To call my soul and gently bid it come 

To light and happiness and its true home 

Upon the hilltops, never more to grope 

In the dark vale; — it was the Voice of Hope. 

56 



HARVEST HOME. 



The full ripe sheaves are garnered, and the long 
Hard day of toil at last is o'er : the bright 
Full-orbed moon illumes the summer night; 

And from bereaven fields the gleaners throng 

With gladdening shouts of joy and happy song. 
The weary toilers gather with delight 
Around the festal board, and many a light 

Free laugh and gleeful tale the feast prolong. 

All gone — the days of toil and moonlit eves, 

The joyous feast beneath the elms' arched dome; 

All hushed except the murmur of the leaves. 

When to life's harvest-fields in silence come 

The angel reapers gathering in their sheaves, 
O may we sing eternal Harvest Home ! 



AMONG THE MYRTLE TREES. 



The holy silence of the Sabbath night 

Is come : and lo ! among the myrtle trees 
In the deep vale the aged prophet sees 

A heavenly horseman clad in raiment bright, 

And many horses, speckled, red and white. 

Thus Zacharias speaks : "Lord, what are these ?" 
Thus he who stands among the myrtle trees, 

Whose manlike form reveals angelic might : 

"They whom to walk through the earth the Lord hath 
sent." 
And answering said the angels of the blest — 

Good words in tones of wondrous ravishment: 

"We walked through earth at His benign behest; 

Behold we found in time of days thus spent, 
The world inhabited and all at rest." 

57 



OCTAVE. 

O Theodora, Gifts of God, go forth. 

Go east, west, south and north. 

Fulfill His purpose in your quest 

To find some heart wherein may rest 

Your thoughts of Him who oft prepares 

With curious art His loving snares 

For souls the centuries along. 

And weaves His nets from little threads of song. 



MAY SONG. 



Sweetheart, we went Maying 

In the olden time, — 
I remember you were saying 

In a little rhyme, 
You would be a poet 

And would sing alway. 
So the world should know it, 

Of the Queen of May. 

You have chosen meetly 

Not a poet's life. 
Yet methinks mere sweetly 

Sings a happy wife. 
Baby arms are clinging 

While you softly pray,- 
In a low voice singing 

To the Queen of May. 



58 



A PERSONAL QUESTION. 



In our common daily work 

There's a duty none should shirk 
Though life's tasks are oft in vexing hazard whirled; 

Each soul should give some gladness 

To lessen human sadness, — 
Do you do your share of laughing in the world? 

Like the quickening summer wind 
That leaves its warmth behind 

By which the soft rose-petals are unfurled, 
Cheerfulness will banish care, 
Scatter blessings everywhere, — 

Do you do your share of laughing in the world? 

In sorrow's gloomy day 

A laugh will scare away 
The serpent close beside your pathway curled, 

The genuine heart-laughter 

That leaves no shadow after, — 
Do you do your share of laughing in the world? 



RENAMED. 



Fool they called him, the merry crowd 
From which he fled when the mirth was loud. 
Afar from human haunts he went, 
And his life in prayer and penance spent. 
With his brave soul freed from earthly taint, 
He died at last, and they called him Saint. 



59 



A WONDER. WORLD. 



Beyond the dark and heavy-bolted Gates of Sense 

A Land of Beauty lies. The dawn's magnificence 

Might be as well described to one who never saw, 

As this fair realm of light and peace where love is law. 

To him who hath not trod its sacred ways, nor seen 

The loveliness of her who reigns its crowned Queen, 

Nor fed his soul with glories of the mighty King 

Around whose throne, entranced, the fiery Seraphs sing. 

No far-off shadow-land it is, for all may enter there 

Each day, each hour at will, — the Wonder-World of Prayer. 



HOLY HILL. 



Majestic there against the dawn rose-tinted, calm 
As a dream-rapt prophet, symbol of that full psalm 
Whose matin strains arise from consecrated hearts to thrill 
Heaven's utmost bourns, church-crowned, you seem, O Holy 

Hill, 
A sacramental thing ; at noon, at evensong 
\Miat toilsome lives are comforted, what souls made strong 
By looking to your height ! 

Hill of my dreams, although 
A wandering spirit leads me far, and far I go. 
My storm-tost heart turns back along remembered years, 
And through becalming mists of slowly gathering tears 
My eyes your beacon seek, — dear shrine where from o' nights 
Gleams far the hallowed tower-lamp of the Carmelites. 



60 



NOCTURNE. 



Mysterious Night! what memories 

Thou bringest in thy starry train, 

Of days long gone, and friends whose lips 

Once kind are mute forevermore, — 

Those dear, dead loves that came to bless 

My life awhile and went their way! 

Inebriant fragrances that blent 

In summer eves with moonbeams pale, 

And left a half -remembered sense 

Of holy presences unseen 

That hovering lightly near our world, 

Gave glory to a fleeting dream. 

See ! where the moon 
With golden light 
Floods yonder hills 
And misty vales ! 
Dark, waving woods 
And moaning winds 
Bewailing, weep 
With solemn chant 
Earth's passing joys. 

Phantoms of other days return to me, 

And whisper mockingly : "Lost ! lost f or-e*er, — 

Good deeds thou might'st have done, the kindly word 

Thou might'st have said to soothe some restless heart!" 

Anon within the silent chambers of the soul 

Glide spectral forms like white-robed visitants. 

The ghosts of buried fears that rise again, 

And mutter in strange tongues vague prophecies 

Wherein are mingled grief and joy and pain. 



61 



How wearily, how wearily, 

With haggard brows the wan hours pass 

Adown the dusky aisles of night! 

But, lo ! a tender, radiant star 

Hangs tremulous in eastern skies, — 

Morn's pulses stir ; in a new world 

Of high resolves and golden hopes 

Ten thousand voices sing : ''The Dawn !'' 



62 



WITHIN THE VEIL. 



Methought I woke beyond the bourn of time and space 
Within the veil where God and human souls are face to face. 
At first a freedom felt my soul, and then a loneliness 
For something gone that with the soul maketh our perfectness. 

Is heaven heaven for soul alone without its body there ? — 
Came as celestial lightnings flash swift answer to my prayer. 
Center of dazzling radiance 'twas mine to see as spirits can 
Our human form all glorified, the likeness of the Son of Man. 

A little lower then my rapt spirit bent its gaze 

To where an orb of splendor from the Center drew its rays. 

Clothed with the sun the One Immaculate was seen, 

A woman ruling mighty hosts of heaven as their Queen. 

Apocalyptic wonders I beheld with love and awe, 
God's unutterable secrets not revealed in His law. 
"I know that my Redeemer lives," — came remembered words 

to me. 
Earth-echoed, — ^*In my flesh my Savior I shall see.*' 



63 



SYMPATHY. 



How many a heart 

In gloom apart 
With all its treasures locked, 

Might open wide 

With words to guide 
A world that scorned and mocked ! 

Wouldst know, my dear, 

A passage clear 
To all that wealth untold ? 

You hold the key, — 

'Tis sympathy 
Will open hearts of gold. 



TO A VIOLET. 



O violet, so deeply blue, 
Whence came your sweetness? whence your hue? 
You shine amid the bright May-blooms, 
And gladden all the woodland glooms. 
Once in a May-time long ago, 
I heard a voice love-tuned and low, 

Softly repeat 

The legend sweet. 
(O happy memories of olden days. 
Of youth and love and pleasant country-ways.) 

"A shred of the robe of the Mother-Maid, 
A thread of the mantle of Queen Marie, 
Torn by a spine of the black-thorn tree, 
Took root in earth. 
And the soil gave birth 
To the fairest bloom of the flowery glade." 

64 



Dear love, the blue 

Of the violet's hue 
Has flecked the green of your grave for years; 

And I live on 

Though you are gone — 
(O the weary burden of life that bears 
No balm but the balm of silent tears.) 

O Julie, rest 

In your sheltered nest. 
Safe from life's tempest of doubts and fears. 

O violet so sweet and true. 

There are tears on your petals blue — 
Tears from the depths of a stricken heart, 
From the silent gloom of a life apart. 

To God alone 

Is my sorrow known : 
(Ah me! it is better so, — 
'Tis best that the world should never know.) 

Aye, sweetheart, rest; 

God knoweth best. 



THE ANNUNCIATION. 



An Angel's flight through the midnight skies, 
The whispered word of a Virgin blest, 

A ray of light from the Central Sun, 
''Et Verhitm caro faBum est/' 



65 



FAREWELL TO SUMMER. 



Farewell ! Farewell ! the sun is setting, 

We walk our last on Lake Bemidji shore, 

Where white-capped waves with loud, unwonted fretting 
Grieve, for the happy summer days are o'er, — 
Farewell ! Farewell ! 

There's not a song-bird left in all the vv'ildwood; 

There's not a flower our searching eyes to greet; 

Sad is the distant murmur of the pine trees. 
And yellow leaves are falling at our feet, — 
Farewell ! Farewell ! 

Xo more we'll seek for woodland treasures, 

For wild blue-bells and dainty maiden-hair, — 

Sweet summer's gone with all its golden pleasures, 
When every sound in nature was a prayer, — 
Farewell ! Farewell ! 



THE POET. 



His ear was attuned to the music of woodland and meadow 

and stream. 
His vision enraptured by glories that only a poet can dream ; 
He wove from the colors of morning, from sunlight and shadow 

and rain 
Songs of beauty that thrilled through long ages, and soothed 

many a pain. 
Men were better because he had lived, and he blest the world 

where he trod. 
For he sang to the hearts of his fellows thoughts from the 

Heart of God. 

66 



VOCATION. 



I was a child amid my father's fields ; 

A voice as coming from the tree-tops tall 
Or wild winds blown from far-off, lonely w^ealds, 

Was whispering to me, 'Xeave all ! Leave all 1" 

I was a youth in crowded cities gay, 

Where men before the idol Pleasure fall; 

'Twas at a reckless, merry, midnight play, 

I heard aghast dread words, "Leave all ! Leave all !" 

I was a man with mighty power to rule ; 

Men came and went obedient to my call. 
Once when the world clapped hands, — "Thou fool," 

A low voice sternly said, "Leave all !" 

And all was left to follow where it led, 

That sweet, dread voice that held my soul in thrall; 
Since then, dear Master, in Thy footsteps red 

I walk with heavenly joy, my God, my All ! 

How good Thou art, dear Lord ! In craven fears 
I fled Thee far; but still Thy blessed call 

With loving care pursued me through the years : 

"Take up thy cross and follow Me ! Leave all !" 



67 



RESURRECTION. 



I know that love's true perfectness 

Is sealed by death and pain, 
And love to reign eternally 

Must die, and rise again; 
For my dear, dead love that was laid away 

With mourning and bitter tears, 
Arose at the call of a Voice divine 

To live through endless years. 



ON THE LAKE. 



A pathway of gold to the rising moon 

Over the beautiful lake. 
To where on a lonesome, piny shore 

The shining- wavelets break ! 



'fc> 



Hovv^ swiftly our boat over waters dark 

Glided in rhythmic sweep ! 
And we looked to the paling stars above 

That changeless night-Vvatch keep. 

Oh ! sacred the thought of that autumn night. 

Even the silence was prayer. 
For God's deep wonders were all around. 

And we felt His presence there. 



68 



THE WIND AND THE ROSES. 



Where it was I read so sad a fable ? 

Memory fails, — a volume long- forgotten, 

Some old classic, doubtless, Greek or Persian, 

Yellow, maybe, with the dust of ages. 

Just the story I remember, — gone the beauty 

Of that quaint old author's telling, 

Who sincerely wrote his own conviction 

As if Israfel had so revealed it. 

'Neath your learned, com^plex modern phrases 

Lurks the skeptic thought, a question ever, 

Subtly robbing all our old ideals 

Of their truest charm — 

A critic? I? Nay, truly, — 
But you wait my homely English version. 
''In the sweetest bud the eating canker dwells," 
That's Shakespeare, — Shakespeare knew his theme. I follow 

Once within a lovely Eastern garden — 

You have heard, no doubt, of Kashmir's Valley? — 

Roses bloomed, fair, fragrant, queenly roses ; 

Overhead the June sky with its splendors, 

Clouds that drifted, floated, came to anchor 

In a golden western haven. 

Minstrel zephyrs softly sang their love-songs 

Bringing to the fair cheeks of the roses 

Mantling blushes, — and they dreamed their day-dreams. 

Came at last some wand'ring caterpillars. 

Handsome, truly, with ambitious daring, — 

O'er the fragrant rose-leaves creeping, creeping, 

Brilliant strangers clinging with persistence. 



69 



Euros, wise old wind, foresaw their danger. 

Shouted as he came : ''Shake off your caterpillars!" 

Swept he through the garden, and each blossom 

Docile to his voice, shook her soft petals, — 

All save one, and she, the fairest, 

Looked V\dth pity on a tiny caterpillar. 

Drew him close within her tender rose-heart. 

— Well, that bright June day was swiftly over; 

Peeped the stars through stately, waving palm-trees ; 

Slept the roses in the garden, happy, — 

All save one, and she the fairest. 

(Why do sweetest hearts ache most, I w^onder?) 

Shone the mystic, Indian moonlight 

Through the soft, enchanted night; its radiance 

Fell unheeded; magic odors gave no pleasure; 

Music of the bulbul's note was pain. 

Mornine came, — it w^as the Feast of Roses, — 

Gul Reazee, — so the Persians call it. 

All the beauteous flowers of the valley 

Fresh wath dew, uplifted tender faces 

To the glad caresses of the Sun, their King, — 

All save one, who drooped her shrunken petals; 

For the little, false love cherished fondly 

'Gainst a wiser will, a canker proving, 

Stole her peace, her life, her peerless beauty, 

Once the fairest rose in all that garden, 

Queenliest flower in Kashmir's lovely Vale. 

Nay, Friend, I need not point the moral of the fable; 
'Tis clear that seeming holy cause or high ambition 
Often proves a blight and not a blessing; 
And the darling scheme we long had cherished 
Finds nor place nor welcome at the Feast of Roses. 



70 



SWALLOV/S AT EVENING 



Thousands of swallows 
At coming of night ! 

Swift glance that follows 
Their wild, circling flight ! 

Where is their hiding-place? 

When will they rest ? 
Will each find abiding place 

Safe in its nest? 

In the love of the Master, 
The birds of the air 

Need fear no disaster, 
They bide in His care. 



THE CITY OF PEACE. 



It lies far away from earth's sorrows and joys. 
Far away from the world and its glittering toys ; 
And yet in the midst of all these may be found. 
Serene, undisturbed by wild conflicts around. 
In each human soul God can build if we will. 
His own Holy City where all storms are still ; 
But no one can know thee till self-motives cease 
By Way of Abandonment, City of Peace. 



71 



NIAGARA. 



Niagara ! 'twas near dawn, and listening to the roar 

Of many mighty waters, 
My thoughts went back to primal days of yore 

When dusky sons and daughters 
Of savage tribes, in silence and amaze 

First wond'ring looked on thee 
In morning's light, and thought to gaze 

On some vast deity. 

Omnipotence ! before faith dav/ns, in darksome hour 

Is heard thy Voice appalling. 
And w^e, afraid, discern not Beauty there but Power, 

Albeit Love is calling. — 
Around the Throne perchance there shall appear 

The thousands who have trod 
These wild gray rocks, and learned to worship here 

One great and holy God. 



AN ALCHEMIST. 



(Brother Francis muses) : 

"I have found at last the Philosopher's Stone 
And surely my riches have suddenly grown ! 
For each thought and each word and each act I touch 
With the question: What does God think of it? — Such 
Wealth as the money-kings hoard and hold 
Seems poor and mean by my stores of gold." 



72 



BEFORE A STATUE OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN 



A meek-browed maiden, there she stands 
With downcast eyes and folded hands, 
Chiseled in Parian marble white, 
Fair symbol of her soiil's pure light. 
Meek, — but the dragon beneath her feet 
Writhes, crushed f ore'er by that Virgin sweet ; 
Her eyes downcast, — she vie\vs the earth 
Brought back to Heaven by her Son's birth. 
Her folded hands have stayed the rod, 
For they held as a Babe the Lord our God. 
Her lips are mute, but they said the word 
That jubilant angels attentive heard. 
That won redemption for you and me — 
''Bcce! Ancilla Domini." 



A LETTER. 



A morning of gloom, and the fretful rain 
Incessantly beat on my window-pane. 
''Cheer-up ! cheer-up !" sang an instinct true, 
''A letter is coming, is coming for you." 
That postman's whistle clear and shrill 
Sounds in my ear as music still ; 
For a letter came, and the day grew bright. 
And my soul was flooded w^ith love's dear light ; 
And the world was glad — will be glad alway, 
Because of the letter that came today. 



73 



HIDDEN VICTORIES. 



Methought there came to me in dreams at dead of night 
One who, despised of men, was held in evil fame; 

He bared his breast, and spake : "Read thou my heart aright, 
And knowing all, O friend, thou'lt pity me, not blame." 

Ah me ! that thou might'st read what words were writ therein. 
And judge less harshly. Marathon nor Trasimene 

Record such victories as here, o'er hosts of sin 

And demon foes, in living characters vvere seen. 

Men viewing but the outward show of things, avow 

All lost, nor count the hidden strife. Life's bitter woe, 

Repentant tears, the fierce soul-struggle, thinkest thou 
Shall unrecorded be in Heaven ? Nay, not so ! 



74 



FAILURE. 

Divinely taught through patient centuries, 

One lesson men are slow to understand; 

They cannot learn, — nay, zvill not were the word, — 

That where o'er lives men Failure write, God sees 

In golden characters Success. His hand 

Rewrites the epitaph the world averred. 

To save mankind, to right the wrong 

Christ chose the folly of the Cross ; 

Unto the weak, th' unlearned, 'twas given to fill 

Succeeding years with glory. World-wisdom, the strong 

Power is baffled. He has taught that failure, loss. 

Ignoble death may be a triumph still. 



NOLI FORAS EXIRE." 



I sought for God in variant ways of love, 
In stately cities builded high with pelf ; 

I sought Him in the starry realms above, — 
And lo ! I found Him here within myself. 



"TRISTIS USQUE AD MORTEM." 



Art sad, poor heart, with weight of woe 
Mm muring that thou must suffer so? 
Remember Him who mourning saith : 
''My soul is sorrowful unto death." 

75 



COLUMBUS AT VALLADOLID. 



Nay, Father, bear with me a Httle while, 

Urge not tonight the need of silent rest; 

Tomorrow I shall rest, for well I know 

Tomorrow holds nor noon nor eve for me, 

And here at Valladolid is the end. 

Open the casement, there ! — and let me look 

Once more upon the deep Castilian skies ; 

This sweet Ascension eve, the May-moon's curve 

The old f amJliar constellations shine ! 

When next they rise, beyond them far my soul 

Shall be with God. 

But now old memories 
And half-forgotten scenes come back again, — 
My boyhood's dreams in sunny Italy, 
The wild sea-journeyings, the storms and stress 
Of weary years. \"\'herever ship had sailed 
I sailed remoter seas ; large hope sustained. 
Upbore me in my quest of other lands, 
My mission's proof of authenticity, — 
The Gospel preached to nations manifold, 
And savage peoples brought to Christian faith. — 
But oh, the fetters, how^ they galled my wrists ! 
— That largest scar is Bobadilla's mark. 
May God forgive him as I freely do, — 
My soul they could not fetter! — Where was I? 
The m^emory of those old Genoa days ! 
I know not how or when my dream began. 
Perhaps the sphere the Christ-Child held empalm.ed, 
Or far Atlantis, Plato's fancied isle, 
The Tuscan's vision, or the Stagirite 
Awoke that irresistible desire 
Ordained by God to work His purposes. 
I cannot truly tell, but this I know, 
At life's new morn it seemed a part of me. 

76 



Oh, the hard self-schooling where with meager means, 

And forced to grope my slow and painful way, 

— My hair was almost white at thirty years, — 

I gleaned the scattered science of the world. 

My soul was burning with its pent-up fires, 

And Toscanelli's treatise fanned the flame. 

Forever calling, calling from the West 

Were voices crying, ''Come !" In Heaven's hand 

I stood. A mystic revelation seemed 

To bid my heart be brave; and while I vvalked 

The common ways of life, my enterprise 

Sublimely great such inspirations brought 

As lifted me above the sordid throng. 

To boundless regions vast where peopled isles 

Await the light of dawn, my ships should bear 

His banner Who redeemed the world. His Church 

Would mighty nations rule from pole to pole. 

'Twas not a foolish dream, for time shall prove 

Its truth. Her majesty, the gracious queen 

Whose pledged jewels ransomed many souls, 

Hath found eternal peace; where men shall speak 

My name, her name will be a benediction. 

What pride that summer day on Palos' strand ! 
My ships were manned, the mystery of the sea 
Lay all before, — the sea — the swelling sails — 
Diego come — Felipa mia — where — 
Your pardon, Father, for my wandering thoughts, — 
But call Fernando when the end is near. 

Meseems once more to float upon the sea. 
'Tis evening. List ! they sing my Vesper Hymn, 
Salve Regina ! From isles of spice and palm 
Soft breezes blow full fragrant, and the stars 
Are mirrored in the ocean, tropic calm. 



— Was that a nightingale's clear note? 
Nay? — But someone called to me; a voice 
More sweet than music filled my soul, — a song 
Of golden hopes fulfilled, heard long ago 
An April morn in Andalusia. 

Again the sails are set that westward bear 
My gallant crew, — is Martin Pinzon there ? — 
Cipango — that way lies our goal, — a new 
Crusade shall find the Holy Sepulchre ! 
Is all prepared ? Be ready at the dawn. 
The dusky children of this strange new world 
Will gather w^onderingly when you shall sing 
Tomorrow's Mass in aromatic groves. 

Once more, O Father, say, "Absolvo te !" — 
In manus tuas, Domine, — at last 
My keel has cut into the Silent Sea ; 
No surging billows roar, but all is still — 
Calm as the waters near San Salvador. — 
Does morning break with all its olden charm, 
Ascension morn ? — Yon dayspring seems 
A light that shines from an eternal shore ! 



78 



MYSTERIES. 



Birth and Death, 

Death and Birth ! 
What scientist can fathom these 
Common daily mysteries? 

Ah me, the night was long, 

A night of pain; 

But vvhen the morning star looked through the pines. 

Earth smiled again ; 

And like a soul set free from terror's dark confines, 

A bird broke into song. 

Then, — a celestial herald bearing respital, — 

Dawn spread her wings o'er Lakeside Hospital. 

Across a dimly lighted corridor 

Like echoes from some troubled shore 

Came moanings of resistance 

To some strong Power's insistence. 

Only as feeble nature can, 

With sighs and gaspings vainly spent, until 

Faint and more faint they grew, and all was still. 

For Death had claimed a Man. 

Meanwhile, within an eastern room 

Where light was fast dispelling gloom. 

And at that selfsame hour. 

Were other wrestings, 

Were cryings and protestings 

Because a different power 

Had claimed its own, the Power of Life; 

With useless cry that morn 

Against long years of hope and fear, of doubt and strife, 

A Man was born. 

Death and Birth, 

Birth and Death ! 
Can scientism fathom these 
Old, abysmal mysteries ? 

79 



THE WINEPRESS. 



A great soul's noble thoughts were crushed 

By sorrow, exile, wrong. 
And forth to cheer mankind there gushed 

The rich red wine of song. 



TO A V»'ILD ROSE 



Blower of the wayside frail and fair, 

O Sweet Wild Rose, 
Your fragrance glziter.s the 5u~n:er air 

When life : err.:\vs. 
Won by the charr : : : } our pale, pure face 

Some passer: y 
May bear you far f r : :. ; : ur sheltered place 

To droop and die, — 
Into the world to suffer wrong, — 

O love, beware, — 
Where canker and bale and blight are strong 

To bring despair. — 
Far fr:::. your home in an evil hour 

To leam life's woes; 
For beautv is oft a fatal dower. 

My Wild Sweet Rose. 



80 



THY TODAY. 

(St. Augustine) 
In Thee, O God, Today shall never end. 
And yet in Thee it cometh to its close ; 
Sun-rising and sun-setting dost Thou send 
And night when weary nature seeks repose. 
But there where years are not thrust out by coming years, 
Nor hour nor week nor month doth pass away. 
Where day commences not with end of yesterday, 
Nor ends with morrow's dawn, it ever is Today. 

How many years, O God, how many years 

Have flowed away 

Through Thy Today, 
From it received their measure and their mould 
Of being! Never new and never old. 
Unchangeable Thou art, Most High, and still 
All changing, Who doth earth and heaven fill. 

What things, O God, tomorrow's light shall see 
And all beyond in Thy Today must be ; 
And yesterday and whatso passed before 
Are found therein, the same forevermore. 

Today with Thee 

Is all Eternity. 



MAGNES ANIMARUM." 



O Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament, 

Where'er through all the busy day my steps are bent. 

My thoughts, my heart as needle to its pole, 

Are drawn to Thee, dear Magnet of my soul. 

81 



A VOICE. 

*Vain, vain, vain, all in vain!" 
Sigh of the night-v^ind or sound of the rain, 
Murmur of brooklets or ocean's loud calling, 
Music in tenderest harmonies falling. 
Tones of the friends that are dearest can never 
Silence one Voice that wall haunt me forever. 

'Love, love, love, all in love!" 
My spirit is drawn from earth- joys far above 
To follow the Voice that forever is leading 
My poor wayward soul, with its low, earnest pleading, 
That calls me, forgiven, to Love's blessed home, — 
And my yearning heart answers, ''Rabboni, I come !" 



THE CAPTIVE. 



Against the bars of this cage of life 
My soul oft beats her wings. 
And falls back panting from the strife 
To dream of wondrous things, — 
Of Beauty Infinite unveiled 
Where music fine with notes 
To "Sanctus, sanctus, sanctus," scaled. 
Through space unbounded floats. 
Some day a Hand will ope the door, 
A Voice will say : "Be free 
To wing and sing forevermore, 
Thine is eternity !" 



82 



ATTAINMENT. 



Somewhere long ago 
In the Valley of Youth — I know- 
Not how nor when 
(So much hath chanced since then), 
A Voice that thrilled with love, 
From mountain peaks above 
Called to my soul : "Arise ! 
See yonder glowing skies! 
O'er Hills of Peace they bend. 
Through rocks and briars ascend, 
Your truer home is there ; 
Steep paths are found by prayer. 
Heights won by sacrifice !" 

What matter now the tears 
Of weary, weary years, 
The days of dark despair 
Or sleepless nights of care? 
Led by the Voice of Truth 
That called to me in youth 
My upward striving soul 
Hath reached at last the goal 
Of rest for tired feet 
After the dust and heat. 
Here lips forever praise 
God's blest and wondrous ways ; 
For doubt and toiling cease, 
And life's calm evening rays 
Gild fair the Hills of Peace. 



83 



INDIAN SUMMER. 



Stillness everywhere in field and wood, 
Far oft on sunlit hills a purple haze, — 

November in a tender, reminiscent mood 

Dreams wistful dreams of golden summer days. 



SONGS OF HOME. 



We sing, we sing as time's swift shuttle flies, 
And weave our dreams of unforgotten days, 
Of home or country sorrowfully left; 
At last, homesick, we turn with longing eyes 
To Heaven, and meet a loving Father's gaze, — 
So rim two threads of gold within the weft. 
Into an exile's heart such dreams will come. 
And all earth's truest songs are songs of home. 



SONG OF THE MYSTIC. 



O Central Sun ! O Love ! O Fire ! 
My whole life's bound, my heart's desire, 
Updrawn by Thy swift, burning rays 
My rapt soul suffers many ways. 
Earth falls away; nor time nor motion 
Disturbs that vast eternal ocean 
Of light and love where Beauty renders 
Rich dole to life — a world of splendors. 
Pierced through by Love's mysterious wound, 
From joyful pain my soul hath swooned. 
O God! God! God! is Heaven so blest? 
O mystic Sleep ! O Death ! O Rest ! 

84 



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